


Twenty Five

by sadIittlenerdking



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Heavy Angst, It's one of the loops so you know shit's going to go down, M/M, dont say i didnt warn you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-10 20:29:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12919671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadIittlenerdking/pseuds/sadIittlenerdking
Summary: Quentin's inexperience is a problem. Constantly. Jane decides to go further back, to change his entire life so he's ready for the beast.Things don't go to plan.





	Twenty Five

Twenty Five

Jane looks up as Henry enters the office. She attempts a smile, though it doesn’t quite reach as he makes his way around the desk and sits down. They sit in silence for a moment, Jane watching Henry, Henry staring down at his desk, a glare faint in his gaze. 

“They’re going to fail again,” he finally says, eyes darting up to hers. “Three of them are dead already.” 

Jane nods solemnly, “I know.” But she leans forward, crossing one leg over the other. “But, I think I know the problem.” Henry raises an eyebrow, prompting her to continue. “It’s Quentin.” 

“We already know that,” Henry mutters, “And you have to realize we’re at the point where we know no matter what we do, Quentin Coldwater will return. Magic or no magic. Brakebills or no. He always comes back. We can’t get rid of him. Killing him almost killed you.” 

“I wasn’t suggesting we get rid of him or kill him.” She shuffles back in her chair and sets her hands on her knee. “His problem is his inexperience. No matter how early we get him to Brakebills, he doesn’t learn fast enough. We need to... accelerate his learning.” 

“And how do you suggest we do that?” 

“We reset further back. When he’s a toddler. Magicians you trust will kidnap him. Raise him as a magician, so when it’s time to come to Brakebills, to fight the beast? He’ll be far more than ready.” 

Henry nods slowly, “It’s certainly not your worst idea.” 

“And if it doesn’t work, we’ll just reset again. Maybe with Julia or Alice or Margo not at Brakebills.” 

He looks down at the desk thoughtfully, before nodding again and looking up at her, “Do it.” 

She grins up at him and stands up, hands swiping at the lap of her dress as she does so. “This is going to be a long one.” 

“Then we’d best get started.” 

**

When Quentin Coldwater is six years old, a couple approach him with matching kind smiles that he doesn’t recognize. The woman with long blonde hair holds a hand out to him, and for a moment he’s confused. But the man waves oddly at him, and Quentin remembers, oh. These are his parents.

He looks over his shoulder at the benches behind him, but turns back around unsure of what he was looking for and takes his mother’s hand. 

“Ready to go home, love?” 

He nods up at her, as his father takes his free hand. 

When Quentin Coldwater is six years old, he ceases to be Quentin Coldwater. He walks out of the park a Watson, unaware of the change. 

From then on, his name always feels clunky and wrong when it falls from his mouth. But it’s his name, so he doesn’t question it. 

 

**

When he’s ten, a woman named Jane visits and offers him a book. His parents tell him it’s okay, she’s a family friend, and he takes the book. 

Before he knows it, he’s asking for the second, and then the third. 

Fillory and Further become a part of his life as if it’d been a part of him that was missing. 

**

At fifteen he masters a spell nobody his age should even know about. His parents send him to school during the day, and when he comes home he practices spells until his arms go numb from the movement. His mother makes him biscuits and treats to help him through the studying, and his father teaches him the spells. Each spell is taught movement by movement, and before Quentin knows it, he can cast it perfectly. 

His mother hugs him every time he perfects a spell, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. 

One day, they’re sitting in the study. Quentin’s reading through one of the spell books his father brought from the library, when his father looks up from his own book, and says, thoughtfully, like he’s been mulling it over for a while: “How would you like to learn battle magic?” 

Quentin’s head pops up so fast he’s sure he gets whiplash, “Really?” 

His father chuckles. “Yes, son, really.” 

Quentin looks towards the door, lowering his voice, “Would mom be okay... with that?” 

“It was her idea.” 

“Wow. Okay. Uhm, yeah. I’d really like that. Is that even allowed?” 

He shrugs, “you’re our son. We get to decide what you learn. And we want you to learn battle magic, so you can protect yourself. You’re old enough now.” 

Quentin grins, “Okay. Cool. Battle magic. This is. It’s. Really cool?” 

Chuckling, his father turns back to his book, “Don’t get too excited, kid. It’s a lot of work.” 

“I can handle it.” 

“I know.” And if there’s something sad in his tone when he says it, Quentin misses it in his excitement. 

**

At age 18, Quentin’s applying to college with his mother, when she looks at him suddenly, and says, “Whatever you do, Q, don’t go to Brakebills.” 

He frowns, furrowing his eyebrows, “Mom, that’s not even on the list. Whatever that is.” 

She purses her lips and nods, reaching forward to grab his forearm gently, “I know. But one day you’ll hear that name, and I’m asking you. Don’t do it. Only bad things come from Brakebills for you.”

“Mom...”

“Please.” 

He sighs, nodding and reaching up with his free hand to place it over hers. “Whatever you want.” 

“That’s my boy.” She pulls away and nods back down to the applications, “Now. Which one had the best view of New York?”

**

He gets into Yale and his parents nearly crush him to death with their excitement. They offer to have a party to celebrate, but he doesn’t have any friends, and they’re so proud of him he doesn’t want that to shift to disappointment. So he says he’d rather have a quiet dinner in with his favorite two people.

His mother nearly cries, and his father rolls his eyes. 

Quentin doesn’t miss the awkward look they shoot each other before they head into the kitchen, but he waves it off as readying themselves for him leaving for college. 

That night, just as he gets out of the shower, the doorbell rings. He frowns, because it’s nearly two am, and walks towards the railing just in time to see his father open the front door downstairs. A man enters, and his father directs him towards his den. 

The first, and last, thing he hears before the den door closes is, “Is he ready?”

And that strikes him as odd. But it’s two am, he’s tired, and needs to prepare for college, so he turns around and heads to bed. 

**

He’s twenty two when he finally discovers what Brakebills is. He’s on his way to lunch with his mother, a weekly occurrence, when the street he’s walking down disappears and he stumbles onto a fresh field of grass, ahead of him, he sees a collegiate building in the distance, glimmering in the sun. Which is also new, because it’s just been winter. 

He sighs. Magic really enjoys fucking with him sometimes. He shakes his head and walks towards the building, because what other choice does he have at this point? As he gets a closer, a figure sitting atop the school sign comes into view. 

He stops in front of the man, squinting up at him as the large, stone sign reading Brakebills glare down on him. He ignores that, and the sound of his mother telling him not to go to Brakebills, in favor of staring up at the mysterious man with curly hair that’s disheveled in just the right way. 

The man smirks and jumps down from the sign, “So. You’re the legacy, huh?” He asks with a quirk of his eyebrow. 

“Legacy?” 

“Parents are Brakebills alum? You’ve got a unique grasp on magic? Etc, etc?” He raises an eyebrow again, “Any of this ringing a bell?” 

“You know about magic?” 

The man makes a face. “Oh honey,” he says, “Do I.” He looks down at his watch, “We’d better get going. You don’t want to be late.” 

“Late?” 

“Yes. You know, the thing when you’re not on time.” 

“What am I going to be late for?” 

“Nothing if you get moving. Come on, legacy.” 

“It’s Quentin.” 

There’s amusement in his voice when he replies, “I know.” He reaches into a pocket and holds up a small white card, “Quentin Watson, legacy.” He smirks and turns his back on Quentin to start walking, “Come on, Quentin Watson, legacy.” 

His mother’s words ring in his head, but there’s something about the man that has Quentin moving forward without thinking. 

** 

He passes the test. 

The man is waiting outside the door when he finishes, and grins at him as he exits the room. “How’d you do?” Quentin shrugs, but the mans smirk widens. “Well, then. That’s good.” 

“It is?” 

“If you did well that means you’ll be around for a while.” 

Quentin nods, “Yeah.” He looks up at the man, furrowing his brow, “What’s your name?” 

The man shrugs one shoulder with a smug grin. “I’m Eliot.” 

**

His mother freaks out when he tells her he’s going to Brakebills. He’s never seen her lose her cool before, but the moment he says Brakebills she rushes across the room and grabs him by the shoulders and tells him she forbids it. Tears burn at her eyes, and her voice shakes as she tells him she won’t allow it. 

It takes his father pulling her away for her to calm down. But even he stares down at Quentin like he’s never been more disappointed. 

Quentin pretends he hasn’t expected to disappoint his father eventually, and packs his things. 

**

Eliot appears with a short brunette when Quentin gets back on campus, and grins mischievously. 

The brunette examines Quentin for a moment before rolling her eyes. “He’s not that cute,” she says, but she turns to pat Eliot on the shoulder, and the way her eyes rake over Quentin as she turns, says she thinks differently.

“Uh...” 

“Eloquent as ever, legacy,” Eliot murmurs, “Come. We’ve got a short amount of time, and a big campus.”

They take him on a tour of the campus, explaining each of the disciplines as they go. Eliot stops, though, after explaining Psychic, “You probably know all of this, don’t you?” 

Quentin shakes his head, “No. My parents didn’t want me to come here, so they never... told me anything about it.” 

Eliot tilts his head, “So why did you? Come here?” 

Quentin just shrugs and looks down.

They both know why. 

**

Alice Quinn tries to bring her brother back. 

Instead, a beast crashes through the wards and slaughters fifteen students. Quentin is frozen in place outside the room when it happens, spelled to his spot. He hears their screams, and then he hears nothing but a pair of shoes scraping against he hardwood floor. And then, an eeeily quiet hiss from the other side of the door;

“Quentin... Coldwater...” 

And then he wakes up in the clinic. 

** 

When he opens his eyes, Eliot and Margo are standing beside his bed with matching looks of concern. When they see his eyes are open, they quickly morph into looks of disinterest as Eliot looks down at him and says, “Hey. There’s our favorite idiot.” 

“What happened?” 

Margo and Eliot share a look before turning back to him. “We thought you’d know.” 

“What?” 

“Fifteen kids are dead. I mean, they signed the ‘whoops magic might kill me’ waiver but that doesn’t include some invisible thing somehow breaking through the wards and slaughtering them in class.” 

“I. I don’t think it was invisible.” 

“What?” 

Quentin shrugs, but a pain shoots ip his back and he groans, “Fuck. No. It, Uh. I could hear footsteps. And it said my name. But also, not?” 

Margo sits down on the side of the bed. “What the fuck does that even mean, Q?” 

“He said Quentin Coldwater? Is there another Quentin on campus?” 

Both of them shrug, and Dean Fogg appears with a few other teachers, and the subject is dropped. 

** 

Quentin doesn’t have a discipline. It’s funny; he knows more magic than most people in the school, has an extensive knowledge of battle magic which is apparently illegal at Brakebills, and he doesn’t have a discipline. But they need to move him out of his dorm and into a house. 

Eliot says there’s extra room in the physical kids cottage, so Quentin moves in. 

His first night, Eliot hosts a party to welcome him. 

He wakes up the next morning, hungover with a warmth pressed against his side. When he opens his eyes, he finds Eliot curled up beside him. They’re both still wearing the clothes from the night before, but Quentin reaches up and brushes the hair out of Eliots face and thinks this is something he could get used to.

Maybe with less clothing.

**

Over the next few weeks, people start to forget about the beast. And Quentin grows closer to Eliot and Margo— And even manages to make friends with a traveler, Penny, and another student he sees secretly practicing battle magic, Kady. And Julia, a smart, quick witted woman he bonds with almost as quickly as he did Margo and Eliot.

They don’t get along with Margo and Eliot, but somehow he manages to create a little group of friends. 

He’s never had friends before. 

His heart warms up every time he walks into the living room and sees them all sitting there studying or talking or drinking. 

Having friends is a lot of things.

But it’s mostly nice. 

Just, really nice.

**

Alice Quinn joins their little group. She’s odd, but that’s what makes her a perfect fit. She and Quentin study together in the library for hours on end, both endlessly entranced by the knowledge they’ve yet to learn. Pretty much everyone takes a shine to her almost immediately.

The only one who doesn’t seem to like her is Eliot. 

Quentin ignores it most of the time, until they come back from the library late one night and Eliot snaps at her. It’s not the irritation that pisses Quentin off, it’s the fact that Alice feels the need to leave because she’s unwelcome. 

He pulls Eliot aside and demands an explanation. 

If he’d known being brazen and angry would result in a kiss, he’d have done it a lot sooner. 

He’s mid sentence, or yell depending on who asks, when Eliot groans and leans down to press his lips to Quentins. They’re chap, and taste of whiskey, but Quentin can’t help but pull to himself closer. 

Whiskey, it turns out, is his favorite flavor. 

And jealousy is apparently Eliots. 

** 

The beast doesn’t come back, and Quentin and Eliot grow closer. Eliot kisses him at the kitchen counter in the morning, minty fresh, and again at night when he pulls him into bed. Quentin forgets the last time he slept in his own bed, but then remembers the comfort of Eliot holding him, and doesn’t care. 

There are days that feel right. When Eliot smiles at him from behind a biting joke, or when Margo rolls her eyes at their, “lame relationship grossness.” When Penny says he can hear Eliots thoughts when he’s distracted by Quentin. Or Julia and Kady emerge from their room and sit next to them on the couch, defending their PDA with their own.

But then there are times when Eliot is distant. Like now.

He smiles and jokes and laughs and drinks. He kisses, but they don’t feel like his kisses. There are days that Eliot doesn’t feel like Eliot. And there are moments, just quick flashes that Eliot wipes away with a laugh and. Drink, where he seems to be lost. Like he doesn’t know what just happened. A quirk of the brow, a flash behind his eyes, a curl of his lips, questions that don’t make sense. 

But nobody else sees it, so Quentin just smiles and laughs and drinks along, and pretends that everything’s fine.

The chill down his back when Eliot looks at him is easily ignored. 

If he tries really hard. 

**

Moths start appearing in the cottage. They think it’s an infestation, but no spell they use is able to get rid of them.

Over time, they start to ignore the moths, and it becomes habit to just spell them away when they get to be too annoying.  
Over time the weirdness fades, and Eliot is just Eliot. 

**

Quentin learns, through no fault of his own, that Fillory is real. And that it’s in danger. The same beast that killed his classmates is killing the world that he’d spent nights of his childhood imagining going to. 

And somehow, he thinks, he and his friends are expected to save it. 

**

 

Quentin has a panic attack. Eliot’s with him, holding him through it, shhing him, and pressing soft kisses to the top of his hair. He’s not even sure what brought it on, but when he calms down, all he can do is be thankful he has Eliot. 

Even if Eliot seems distant afterwards. 

**

They decide to practice battle magic. Kady steals a book from Dean Foggs Office, and she and Quentin become secret faux instructors. Alice and Penny have trouble controlling their emotions, so Kady reluctantly brings up emotion bottles.

They decide it best for everyone to use the bottles, even Kady and Quentin, to explore the strengths behind them. 

As they let go of their emotions, Quentin looks across the room at Eliot. For the first time since they got together and he started drowning himself in his feelings, he can see the state he’s in. His eyes are sunken in, and he’s so much skinnier than he was when they first met. 

“I’m worried about you,” he says. For once he doesn’t worry about what might come after. He just says what he’s thinking.

Eliots eyes fall on him. “Did you forget to use your bottle?” 

“No. I’m worried about you.” 

Margo takes a step forward, “You can discuss this later. We have more pressing matters at hand.” 

Quentin nods, “You’re right.” 

And they all head outside, the conversation forgotten in the cottage. 

**

Three hours come and go too quickly. Penny signals the end of their time, and they all swallow down their emotions. 

It all comes rushing back in. He falls to his knees in the center of the clearing, the weight of everything he usually ignores bearing down on him. He can vaguely hear Alice sobbing behind him, and Margo choking on something in front of him. Eliot stumbles beside him, and Penny completely vanishes. Kady kneels on the ground on his other side, putting her head between her legs. 

He knows he doesn’t have the healthiest brain or mental situation, but this is so far from what he’d expected the rush of emotions coming back would feel like. 

The only thing that keeps him from collapsing in on himself is the one good feeling, there at the center of his chest, blossoming through the pain. 

He squeezes his eyes shut and reaches out for Eliot. 

Eliot latches onto his hand as tight as he can. 

**

He recognizes her almost immediately. 

She’s walking out of Dean Foggs Office with his mother. Just as he’s about to approach her and ask what they’re doing there, his mother says something that doesn’t make any sense. 

“He is my son, Jane. He is.” 

Jane rubs a hand over her back, “I know it feels that way, love. But you knew what you were both getting into when you agreed to help.” 

“No. We didn’t know we’d love him. Or that we’d be sending him to die.” 

Jane clicks her tongue defiantly. “He won’t die.” 

Quentin’s mother shakes her head and pulls away. “We thought we were protecting him. You just wanted him to be a weapon.” 

“If you truly thought that you wouldn’t have done everything we asked.” 

The statement is followed by a hollow sob, and they start walking again. 

Quentin emerges from his place in the hallway, watching after them as they disappear around a turn. His eyes dart towards Dean Foggs door, and without thinking, he casts a spell to unlock it and storms in, chest heaving as the confusion clouds his head. 

Dean Fogg looks up and sighs. “Already?” He asks, motioning towards the chair across from him. “Have a seat, Quentin.” Quentin’s chin trembles, but he moves around to sit in the chair. “If your appearance is anything to go by you’ve discovered something you shouldn’t have.”

He stares up at him for a moment, before asking, quiet and not at all sure it’s the right question, “Who’s Quentin Coldwater?” 

If the dean is shocked by the question, he doesn’t show it. “Isn’t that the name the beast said before it sent you to the infirmary?” Quentin nods once, short. “And what makes you think I know who Quentin Coldwater is?” 

Quentin clenches his jaw and leans forward. “Who’s. Quentin. Coldwater?” 

Dean Fogg tilts his head. “Tell me,” he says, “What is your earliest memory?” 

“What does that—“ 

“Humor me.” 

He thinks back. The furthest he can remember is that day at the park, when he was . . . “I was six? Maybe seven. We were at the park.” 

“Who’s we?” 

“My— mom and dad said it was time to leave early.” 

The dean nods, “And you don’t remember getting to the park.” It’s not a question, but still, Quentin shakes his head. “Interesting.” 

They’re both silent for a long beat. 

Finally, Quentin heaves a breath, and says so quiet, he’s not even sure anyone but him can hear it, “They’re not my parents. Are they?” 

But Dean Fogg must, because he replies. “No, Quentin. They’re not.”

** 

Quentin Coldwater. 

The walk back to the cottage is numb. The name plays back and forth in his head. He’d never felt like he belonged, but he thought that was on him and the stupid shit his brain does. Not in the fact that his parents aren’t his parents. 

He’d never in a million years have guessed that. 

He wants to hide in his room, ignore everyone and everything. But when he gets back to the cottage, it’s just Eliot, and he’s standing at the foot of the stairs with a mischevious smile on his face like he’s got something planned. 

So Quentin puts on as much of a smile as he can and asks, “What are you up to?” 

Eliot shrugs and motions towards the kitchen, “Follow the yellow brick road and you’ll see, Toto.”

Quentin leans forward, “I don’t see a yellow brick road.” 

Eliot rolls his eyes and pulls Quentin in by his belt loops, pressing a kiss to his temple. “You’re supposed to use your imagination. Like normal people do.” 

“Am I normal?” 

Eliot frowns against Quentin’s temple and pulls away to stare down at him. “What’s wrong?” Just as Quentin opens his mouth to reply, Eliot shakes his head, “If you say nothing I’ll probably turn you into a toad. And I don’t know how to reverse that.” 

“Yes you do.” 

“I can make myself forget.” 

Quentin sighs, “It’s. I really don’t want to think about it right now.” 

Eliot watches him for a moment before sighing, “Fine. We’ll do the big romantic thing I have planned, and then you’re going to tell me what’s wrong. And then I’ll make you feel better.” He raises an eyebrow with a smirk, “Deal?”

“Deal.” 

Eliot holds his hand out for him, and Quentin takes it after a moments hesitation. His heart pumps against his chest as he’s dragged through the living room and into the kitchen. 

He almost forgets his entire life is a lie when he sees the candle lit dinner on the table and the vase of orchids at the center of it all. 

“Oh.” 

“I know I’ve been acting strange lately, Q. So I thought I could do something romantic.” 

“Who knew you were capable.” 

Eliot swipes at him jokingly and pulls one of the chairs out. “In all honesty I had a little help from Julia and Kady. But I’ve prepared the meal, so. I did all the heavy lifting and they don’t matter.” He looks up at him, stopping in his tracks, “Why are you crying?” 

He hasn’t even realized he’s crying. He reaches up and swipes at the tears and shrugs, “I just—I’m—“ 

Eliot moves back around to kneel in front of him, hands overtop his knees. “Q. You need to talk to me about whatever this is.” 

It’s a weird rare glimpse into his serious side. 

“I—“ he stops, chin trembling. “It’s all a lie.” 

“What is?” 

“My life. My— they’re not my—I was—I don’t even know what I was. Adopted? Kidnapped? I don’t. I don’t have any information. I just.” 

Eliot makes a face, but nods. “Alright. My Quentin translator is broken. So I’m going to need you to repeat that in normal person speak.” 

Quentin nods, swallowing thickly as he slides down the wall to sit on the floor. “My parents aren’t—they. My name isn’t actually Quentin Watson. I mean. I always knew it sounded weird? I just assumed it was because—because I never fit in. Apparently there’s a reason for that, too.” He looks down at his lap, pulling at the hem of his shirt. “That day the beast attacked. He, Uh. The name he said.” He looks up from beneath his eyelashes. 

“Quentin Coldwater.” Eliot face is remarkably blank when he says it. Like it isn’t the most crushing thing he’s ever heard. 

Which is ridiculous because Quentin’s entire world is imploding. 

“Yeah.” 

Eliot maneuvers them both around until he can pull Quentin into a hug. He brushes his fingers through Quentin’s hair, “I’m sorry, Q,” he breathes. 

“Thanks.” 

“I don’t know what to say.” 

“Neither do I.”

**

Two nights later, they decide to practice battle magic again. Quentin’s still shaken up over the big reveal, unable to convince himself to talk to his—to the people that raised him, so he has no choice but to use the bottle. He’s not focused enough to go without it. Alice, Penny and Kady all go without it. 

Julia, Margo and Eliot join him in relinquishing his misery and whatever they’ve got bottled up inside of them. 

At the end of the three hours, they stand at the center of the clearing and swallow their feelings back down. Penny catches Quentin before he can collapse, and the others catch Julia, Margo and Eliot before they fall as well. 

They help them back into the house, and sit them down on the couch. Quentin’s learning up against Eliot, chest heaving as the one good thing amongst all the pain swirls around him pumping with his heart beat. 

“This is real,” he breathes into Eliots shoulder. “You and me.” 

Eliot nods, reaching up with a hand to cup Quentin’s cheek. “You and me.” 

Quentin swallows down the words that try to force their way out and offers a small smile in response, curling up against Eliots side so he can fall asleep. 

He’ll say it eventually. 

**

The house is full, Eliots having another party. He’s making a set of cocktails when Margo approaches Quentin and watches him watch Eliot. He turns to look at her after a moment, “Do you need something?” 

She shakes her head, leaning up to rest her elbow on his shoulder. “I just think you should tell him.” 

“What?” 

“I mean you two have been together for a while. I’m pretty sure he’s the only reason you ignored your parents —“ 

“They’re not my parents—“ 

“—and it’s so disgustingly obvious. Just say it. It’ll stop weighing on you.” 

“Margo...” 

She pulls away and squeezes his arm, “You’ve been through some shit, I get it. But if you keep going on like this, you’re going to get too scared and push him away. And I like you, Q, really I do. But if you hurt him I’ll have to turn every bone in your body into oatmeal or something equally hideously awful. So just tell him.” 

He looks back across the room, just in time to make eye contact with Eliot, who shoots him a smile before handing another student the cocktail in his hand. “I can’t.” 

“You can.” 

How does he explain to her that there’s that weird flash in his eyes? Or that that’s not the usual smile Eliot reserves for him? How he can’t say it to him now because it feels wrong? 

He can’t. 

She wouldn’t understand. 

“Okay.” 

She pats his shoulder. “It’ll be alright, Q. Your real family may be fake, but we’re your family, too. And there’s nothing fake about that.” She leans up and presses a kiss to his cheek, “Now go tell your boyfriend you love him so I don’t have to watch you two dance around the topic for the rest of your days.” 

“It wouldn’t have been—“ 

“Go!” 

He sighs as she shoves him, and makes his way across the room to Eliot. Eliot grins down at him, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I was wondering how long you were going to play wall flower.” 

“I was thinking we could go somewhere quieter.” 

Eliot perks a brow and nods, “My answer depends on whether this is a sex thing or —“ 

“El.” 

“Alright, Alright.” He sets the cocktail down and notions towards the kitchen. Quentin makes a face, but Eliot shrugs, “Nobody spends time in the kitchen at a physical kids party, Q. Come on.” Before Quentin can even think to respond, Eliots pulling him into the kitchen and pressing him up against the wall by the door. His lips slide down to his jaw, as he kisses his way towards Quentin’s collarbone. 

“Eliot this—fuck. Okay. No. Not a sex thing!”

Eliot pulls away, tilting his head. “Okay. So it’s serious.” 

Chewing on his lower lip, Quentin nods. “Kind of, Yeah.” 

“Okay.” He pulls back, hands staying lightly on Quentin’s hips. “What’s going on?” 

Quentin watches him for a moment, unsure of how to start. He swallows, thick, and reaches up to twirl one of the longer curls at the base of Eliots neck. “Everything in my life—I don’t know what’s real. Dean Fogg apparently orchestrated my kidnapping for whatever reason, and I. I don’t know anything about anything.” Eliot opens his mouth, but Quentin shakes his head and barrels on. “I wasn’t even going to come to his school, but then I met you, and I knew I didn’t want to miss out on knowing you.” 

“Well, I am an exceptional human being so —“ 

Quentin pinches him playfully. It’s not him, but it is. This is Eliot, no matter what Quentin’s stupid brain tries to say. “Shut up. I’m trying to tell you I love you and you’re ruining it.” 

Eliots face goes blank. “What?” 

“Shit. I—Uh. I. Love. You?” 

He watches him, silent, and just as Quentin’s heart is going to fucking burst, something new flashes in Eliots eyes and he steps away. “I have something for you,” he says, holding his hands out in front of him. “Just —stay there, okay? Don’t move.” 

And then he rushes out of the kitchen like Quentin hadn’t just told him he loves him. 

Quentin stares into the dark of the kitchen, lit only be the moon breaking through the sliver of curtains on the window over the sink. He doesn’t have a lot of time to freak out, though, because Eliot comes back, smile on his face. His real smile. His just for Quentin smile, and Quentin’s overcome and he pulls him in for a kiss. His hearts pounding against his chest, and he loves Eliot with everything in him, and it’s okay if he isn’t ready to say it. It’s okay if it’s one side so long as they can still have this. 

Eliot opens his mouth in the kiss, like he’s about to say something and for a moment Quentin thinks maybe it is real on both sides, that he’s going to say it back. 

But then there’s a shattering pain in his chest that sucks all the air out of him and Eliot’s pulling away. Breathless, Quentin looks down to find the virgo blade sticking of his chest, with Eliots fingers wrapped around he base of it. 

He chokes on air, and looks back up at Eliot. Unable to feel anything but shock, and the agonizing fire burning in his chest. 

And then the flash in his eyes disappears and is replaced by a calm peace and then an overwhelming terror and confusion. “Q?” 

Quentin coughs, hacking and violent and something wet and irony pours out of his mouth as he legs collapse from beneath him. 

“Oh my god,” Eliot falls to the ground with him, holding him in his arms. One of his hands pays the air around he knife like he’s unsure of what to do—like he doesn’t know he’s the one that did it. “Oh god. Q—I don’t. Oh god.” Quentin’s eyes grow heavy as Eliot pulls him into his chest. 

Then there’s a scream. 

“Quentin!” He thinks it’s Margo, but he can’t open his eyes to see. 

“We—I don’t know what happened. One second—he told me he loved me. And the next there’s—there’s a fucking knife sticking out of his chest!” Eliots arms squeeze him tighter, and Quentin just wants to ask why, why Eliot would do this—just why. 

But then everything goes dark. 

“Oh god, No.”   
**

“He’s remembering,” Jane says, “How else would he have known?” 

“Or—“

“There is no or. He remembered Quentin, that was worrying enough. But he had enough foresight and knowledge to control one of the students. The student Quentin is closest to? Do you really think that’s a coincidence?” 

“Then what do you suggest we do?” 

Jane falls back in her chair, “I don’t know. We can’t stop. Extra wards and security measures, obviously. He’s not going to take Eliot over again, there’s no point. For some reason, he perceives Quentin as his threat. And he’s eliminated that threat.” 

“We need to reset.” 

“We do. Have you told them about his death?” 

Henry shakes his head. “It’s an unnecessary pain. They’ve already dealt with enough when it comes to Quentin.” 

“So, we won’t be trying this again.” 

“No,” Henry looks across the room to the students standing around Quentin’s body on the infirmary table. “It’s clear training Quentin is the wrong way. Weak link he may be, this isn’t the solution. We need to change something else.” 

Jane nods. “I agree. What do we do now?” 

“We can’t reset until we figure out what to change next. Eliot needs a spell to forget.” 

“They all do.” 

They stop talking and watch as Eliot stares blankly at Quentin, Margo and Penny at his sides. They both pull away as the nurse approaches, but Eliot keeps his eyes on Quentin. 

“What shall we —“

There’s a commotion as Eliot stands up and casts a spell. The nurse attempts to cast faster, to bind his hands, but it’s too late. A sickening crack echoes around the room, and he falls to the ground like a lifeless doll. 

Margo’s scream shatters the air around them. 

Henry looks at Jane. “We can’t do this again.” 

“We have to.” 

“Then let’s separate them all. Perhaps never allowing them the chance to meet will change things.” 

“Are we certain? Every new loop will bring my brother closer to understanding.” 

He watches as the others all stare down at Eliot on the ground with varying degrees of shock and nods. “Do it.” 

So she does.


End file.
